


The Cha Cha Slide

by yohms_law



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Multichapter, My First AO3 Post, My First Work in This Fandom, Romance, Some Fluff, Some Humor, Some angst, Work In Progress, mostly just me trying to write more, reverse love square
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 13:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6471931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yohms_law/pseuds/yohms_law
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When confessions go awry, Marinette and Adrien both find themselves feeling heartbroken and heartsick. In an attempt to get over the love of their lives, they accidentally find themselves in love with someone else...namely, the person who just confessed to them. Reverse, reverse! Everybody clap your hands. Watch these fools as they dance to the Cha Cha Slide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When confessions go awry, Marinette and Adrien both find themselves feeling heartbroken and heartsick. In an attempt to get over the love of their lives, they accidentally find themselves in love with someone else...namely, the person who just confessed to them. Reverse, reverse! Everybody clap your hands. Watch these fools as they dance to the Cha Cha Slide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We see so much fan art and fiction of Chat Noir being crushed by Ladybug’s rejection, but what about Adrien rejecting Marinette?

Today was a day that would be marked in her calendar. She would remember it forever. Marinette was going to do it. She was going to finally freaking do it. She was going to tell Adrien Agreste… Tell Adrien Agreste that… _Wow, Adrien_ , Marinette thought dreamily, sitting next to him at the movie theater.

 _Focus, Marinette_ , she mentally slapped herself. She couldn’t let herself get distracted this early in the game! Not when Alya and Nino had sacrificed themselves for the cause—by which “sacrifice” actually meant they were contentedly flirting next to each other in the very back of the theater. For them, the movie was really just a pretense for the real entertainment, that is, watching Marinette’s attempts to woo a clueless Adrien.

But Marinette couldn’t let her mind wander again. She was finally going to do it. She would tell Adrien Agreste how she felt about him. No more aimless pining for her! No more ridiculous sighs of dejection! After a few double dates and casual outings after school with friends, Marinette was ready to take the relationship to the next level: actually starting a relationship. And this was just step one.

Telling him.

Even if she felt like she was about to throw up…

Marinette turned to him in order to say something—small talk, a question about class, maybe an undying confession, _anything_ —when she realized he was already looking at her with a toothless smile on his face. A flush crept across her cheeks, halting her from saying anything at all. “It’s really nice of you to accompany Alya on her date with Nino,” Adrien said when he realized her open mouth wasn’t going to produce anything intelligible.

“I-I, uhh… Yes!” she blurted. “Alya and Nino are really cute together.”

“Yeah, it’s sort of sweet that they’re so shy they need chaperones,” Adrien continued with a chuckle. He craned his neck around to find their friends in the theater and Marinette followed his gaze. Alya and Nino sat at the very top row, their feet propped up on the seats in front of them. They were chatting animatedly with one another when they noticed Marinette and Adrien staring up at them. Nino wiggled his fingers saucily, and Alya slapped his hand down with a laugh. Adrien and Marinette both waved back, giggling at Nino’s antics, and turned back to face the cinema screen.

“I would have stopped coming to chaperone these things if it weren’t for you, Marinette,” Adrien continued. “You make _his_ dates a lot of fun for me.” If Marinette was blushing before, then she was beet red now. Instead of making a fool of herself, she grabbed a fist full of popcorn and munched on it furiously before she could respond with something stupid.

Adrien laughed. “I guess _you_ only come to these because I always buy you the extra large popcorn,” he teased. Marinette immediately sputtered out whatever remaining kernels where in her mouth, effectively drenching herself in butter and salt and half-eaten popcorn. Adrien only laughed harder, scrambling for napkins. “ _Ewwww,_ Marinette,” he chided, helping her clean her front of globs of popcorn and spittle.

For Marinette’s part, she was absolutely mortified. First he accused her of using him for his money to buy popcorn, then she spit all over herself like a 2-year-old. Why could things never work out for her? Last time the four of them went on a double date her heel snapped off and she had to limp all the way back home. The time before that she had fallen and scraped her knee in their two-on-two basket ball game. Then the time before _that—_

“Don’t focus on your loses,” Tikki had told her. “Just think of your future victories!” Flashbacks of Tikki’s encouragement aside, she certainly had to do something in the present to keep her pride intact. Marinette forced herself to swallow down whatever she had left in her mouth and took the napkins from Adrien’s hand. “I’ll just go to the bathroom real quick,” she said miserably. She stood and handed over the jumbo-sized carton of popcorn trying to avoid eye contact with Adrien, who only just realized her distress. She muttered apologies as she shuffled past people sitting in the theater, making her way to the exit. Earlier she had thought herself lucky for finding two seats in the middle of a row. Now it was just a trial to see how long she could go without crying out of sheer embarrassment.

She fished out her phone when she got to the bathroom, and grimaced at the three texts from Alya:

**Alya: Hey girl, what happened?**

**Alya: WAT WHY R U LEAVING YOU CHICKEN**

**Alya: Get back here, movie is starting**

Marinette sighed, typing up some lie about forgetting to pee earlier, and looked at herself in the mirror. There was good and bad to be said about her appearance at the moment. While she had successfully managed to hold back any tears, and popcorn thankfully would not stain long term, there were unsightly grease and butter marks all down her off-white blouse. She rolled up a moist paper towel and tried her best to rub them out, but the wet blotches on her front that revealed the outline of her bra underneath made her even more self-conscious than before. She squatted awkwardly under the hand dryer in an attempt to dry off the blouse, and that made it all marginally better.

After checking her teeth for stuck kernels (no need for further embarrassment), she made her way back to her seat. As Alya had warned her, the theater was dark, and this time her muttered apologies were received with annoyed glares. Adrien kindly let her readjust in her seat before handing back the box of popcorn. He leaned over and whispered in her ear: “Don’t worry, it’s just been previews so far,” motioning to the cinema screen.

What he did next surprised Marinette very much. He made a big show of unfolding a napkin, and as he leaned towards her with it, she fought down the urge to squeal out of embarrassment. But if she thought he was going to do something indecent, he surprised her by simply tucking it into the high collar of her blouse. Marinette blushed furiously at his proximity, but thankfully Adrien wouldn’t have been able to tell in the now darkened theater. He arranged the napkin so that it covered most of her front, and then leaned over and said, “Just in case you spill again!” Marinette had suddenly never felt more humiliated.

For the second time that night, she was about ready to cry—Jesus, Adrien actually thought he was babysitting a child—when Adrien unfolded another napkin and tucked it into his own shirt collar. He looked over as he arranged it across his chest and noticed her gaping in astonishment. “What? I might spill too,” he said innocently, but there was a twinkle in his eyes, and Marinette burst out in a fit of giggles, spilling popcorn onto her lap in the process.

Marinette and Adrien both gasped, staring frozen at the tiny avalanche of popcorn. Marinette quickly snapped out of it, grabbing fistfuls from her lap, trying to salvage the popcorn that hadn’t spilled to the floor. Adrien stage whispered, “ _Five second rule_ ,” before diving to the floor and shoving popcorn into his mouth before it became less socially acceptable than it already was. She was equal parts grossed out and delighted at his antics.

“ _Ewwww_ , Adrien!” Marinette held a hand to her chest, holding back a wheeze from laughing so hard. It was a rarity to see the shy Adrien display such feats of physical comedy, but they were a treasure. Adrien climbed back into his chair and covered his mouth to prevent himself from laughing out loud.

Why were they laughing? It wasn’t that funny, whatever _it_ was that started this nonsense in the first place. But their giggling just wouldn’t stop and Marinette grabbed Adrien’s shoulder to ground herself. She pointed at his eye as she watched a tear stream down and they both found it in them to cackle even harder.

Someone from behind shushed them, and they both tried to maintain composure, but a snort from Adrien started their giggling fits all over again. The movie began its opening credits and a narrator spoke some asinine opening dialogue. It was a romantic comedy, but even for a rom com, it was a pretty stupid film. Adrien bit back a snigger at the cheesy dialogue and Marinette was slaphappy for the entirety of the film. They took turns leaning over to point out every obvious plot hole, laughed at all the bits that weren’t supposed to be funny, and groaned at all the parts that were supposed to be romantic.

Rom coms were so much more fun when you didn’t take them too seriously. Marinette didn’t even have time to remember that she had felt embarrassed in the first place.

* * *

The two pairs met up outside after the movie was over. Alya cocked an eyebrow at Marinette, who looked relaxed—or at least, as relaxed as she could be around Adrien. Marinette blushed but she didn’t want Alya’s less-than-subtle looks to throw her off. She and Adrien had had a great time watching the movie, and she wasn’t going to let expectations get her all jittery again.

But if Alya wasn’t going to be subtle about it, at least she did know how to be an excellent wing woman. “Nino,” she snapped at the boy next to her, who was absentmindedly on his phone, “walk me home.” Nino shrugged without looking up and agreed. Tucking his phone away, he hugged Marinette and then fist-bumped Adrien. But Nino wasn’t satisfied with the simple gesture, and he grabbed Adrien’s wrist to bring him in for a tight hug—or chokehold, depending on the perspective.

While the boys were strangling each other as expressions of their love, Alya held Marinette close and whispered, “You got this girl. Don’t panic, and just remember what we’ve talked about.” She held her friend at an arm’s length. “You guys _are_ friends, right?” she reminded Marinette. Marinette nodded with a determined look on her face. Then they burst into cheesy smiles and bid farewell with their signature handshake.

Nino placed his arm around Alya and the pair turned around, headed towards Alya’s place. Marinette waved after them, until she felt Adrien’s hand on her shoulder. “Shall we?” he asked, his other hand motioning in the direction they were supposed to go, and they made their way down the streets of Paris side-by-side in the crisp autumn afternoon.

“Isn’t sort of weird that it’s so light out?” Adrien said after about a block, noting the streetlamps that weren’t on just yet.

“Oh! Err, what do you mean?” his companion replied.

“It’s just that after sitting so long in the dark theater I feel like it’s supposed to be nighttime.”

“Ah, yeah, you’re right,” Marinette said in agreement. “I’d forgotten that it’s not even 4 in the afternoon.”

Adrien hummed noncommittally, and they continued walking in silence. Marinette fidgeted, feeling the need to fill the silence with chatter, but Adrien seemed lost in thought and comfortable in the quiet. He felt as though the busy Parisian streets more than made up for the lull in conversation.

It wasn’t a long walk from the movie theater to Marinette’s parents’ bakery, and she felt that she was missing out on a perfectly good opportunity to bring up the confession that she and Alya had planned for weeks. It had seemed so easy when they had talked about it. ( _I like you_.) But now her mouth felt like cotton. ( _I really like you a lot)._ And she had a deep desire to use the toilet, despite having just used the restroom after the movie was over. ( _I’d like to date you_.) How hard could it be? ( _I think about you all the time.)_ Well it was certainly starting to feel impossible. ( _Do you feel the same way about me…?)_

“Marinette?”

Adrien’s voice shocked her out of her reverie and she squawked in response.

“I was wondering…” he continued, as if this sort of behavior from Marinette was perfectly normal—and as far as he knew, it sort of was—“…do you ever think about being in love?”

 _All the time_ , was the immediate thought that flickered through her mind, but what ended up coming out of her mouth was, “ _Pfft_ , me? Never!”

“Oh,” Adrien replied softly, a bit taken aback.

She attempted to correct herself: “I-I mean, I never really gave it much thought…until recently?” _Nice save, Marinette._

“Why is that?” he asked, sincere.

“Oh, uhm… Well, it’s just that we’re a little young, right?” Marinette used her hands, gesturing at nothing in particular.

“We’re too young to be in love?”

“N-no, but, isn’t it a little early to start thinking about getting married and having kids, and naming them?” _You’re a freaking hypocrite_ , she finished in her head.

“Woah,” Adrien said, his eyes widening. “I wasn’t really talking about that, but I guess that’s true…” He turned, and said, contemplative, “I just meant that I think about being with someone special. Going to eat ice cream because I like spending time with that person and for no other particular reason. Walking along the Seine just to talk, or even”—he nudged her shoulder—“going to the movies with someone. Just ‘cause. Don’t you think that sounds nice?”

Marinette’s heart skipped a beat at the way he looked to the sky, all dreamy and boyish. _Yes,_ she thought, _that sounds very, VERY nice_ …

But she couldn’t bring herself to say it, so she just stared up at him, wide-eyed. Adrien laughed when he noted her expression, and said, “I guess from the look on your face you really haven’t thought much about it after all.” Marinette giggled nervously and scratched the back of her neck, but said nothing to confirm or deny his thought.

They turned at the next block, neither leading the way, both knowing where exactly they were heading. The front door of the bakery came into view all too soon, and as they approached it, Marinette said: “Well, here’s my stop,” stating the obvious. She couldn’t help the feeling of disappointment at a mission failure.

 _No_ , she scolded herself, channeling her inner Ladybug, _this mission isn’t over yet._

“Do you… Uhm, would you like to come inside?” Marinette suggested, scrambling to buy herself more time. “Maybe have a croissant? There are sometimes some leftovers, and they just end up getting thrown out at the end of the day…”

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, thank you so much! But I really should be heading home; Father is expecting guests for dinner. The Gorilla doesn’t want me to stay out any later,” he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder to a figure standing nearby. Adrien’s bodyguard and driver was lingering just a block away, not quite staring at them but not quite letting them out of his sight either. Marinette had had a vague awareness that he had always been trailing them, but this was the first time either of them had acknowledged him.

“Oh, uhm, sure alright,” Marinette stammered out. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow? Or, at school…” she paused awkwardly, counting off the days in her head and realized: “…tomorrow _is_ school…”

Adrien smiled warmly, seemingly unaffected but her awkwardness, and held out his arms for a hug. Marinette’s heart fluttered, but she kept her cool and hugged him back. She didn’t step on his toes—an improvement from last time—but she had to actively think about not squeezing too tight— _can’t seem like I’m desperate!_ —and simultaneously think about not giving a wimpy, half-assed hug— _don’t want to seem like I’m too cool for hugs!_

She sank into his embrace, letting cologne and the ever-present, slight hint of Camembert wash over her. She thought, not for the first time, how interesting it was that Camembert was his cheese of choice.

Suddenly, her eyes flashed open. _What am I doing?_ she screamed at herself when she realized the hug was lasting an absurd amount of time. She flailed, trying to push away, but Adrien squeezed a little bit tighter for just a second. _I hate myself,_ she thought. _So, so much_.

Adrien, ever the sweetheart, didn’t notice or just didn’t seem to mind her less-than-graceful hug. Her heart, on the other hand, was threatening to burst from her chest. They were as alone as they were ever going to get, and no one of significance was within earshot.

_It’s now or never, Marinette._

“Oh, A-Adrien?” she said, as Adrien tucked his hands into his pockets, looking as if he were about to leave. “I have something I have to say…”

“Okay?” Adrien said, cocking his head to the side.

“Uhm…” Marinette stuttered. “Well, I guess not _have_ to say, more like _want_ to say.”

Adrien’s eyebrows lifted a bit, but otherwise he made no indication for her to stop.

“Well, the truth is… See it’s funny that you mention all this about love and whatnot because,” Marinette began, defaulting to her usual nervous tick of gesturing vaguely with her hands, “I’ve been wanting to say this for a long time… I mean I haven’t been _wanting_ to say this for a long time, more like I’ve been _feeling_ this for a long time and it’s been only recently that I think I should tell you—”

“Marinette?” Adrien interrupted, not unkindly, “It’s okay. You can tell me.” He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder for a moment and added: “You can tell me anything.”

Marinette swallowed hard and blinked comically. “Ah, right. Well, you see…” she sighed heavily, placing a hand on her reddening cheek. She felt like she was acting so annoying. She’s supposed to be the articulate class representative, the eloquent hero of Paris, not some bumbling class clown!

Adrien’s eyebrows furrowed a bit, now concerned for his friend. “Maybe you should tell me some other time? I mean we’ll see each other again soon. Just talk to me when—”

“ _No_ ,” Marinette replied firmly. “Err, I-I,” she added, when she realized she was probably rude for interrupting him. “I have to say this now.” She took a deep breath, looked Adrien in the eye, and said, “I have a crush on you.”

Adrien’s face fell.

* * *

 Marinette had no illusions as to what she was getting herself into when she decided to confess her feelings. Between Alya and Tikki, she had gone over every possible scenario in her head, never mind how improbable some of them were: Adrien laughing at her; Adrien calling her a liar; Adrien telling her he _hated_ her. But she wasn’t quite prepared for the most dreaded scenario of them all: Adrien kindly turning her down.

Because in all the previous situations, at least Marinette would have had a reason to hate him. If he had treated her coldly, then she would have been justified in ending the crush there. But Adrien being kind to her despite everything—well, that was the reason she had fallen for him in the first place.

And God, was he ever the perfect gentleman about the whole thing. The hand on the shoulder. The slight cock of the head and the gentle smile. The “I really like being friends with you” line, and the “we don’t have to stop hanging out” line. And of course, the fucking “can we hug it out?” conversation ender.

It took every ounce of her will for Marinette to keep herself from trembling during that hug. Sometimes, there are moments one looks back on and thinks, _I should have done that differently._ And although she hated thinking about that moment, out on the porch of the bakery, her brain couldn’t stop bringing it up. She had analyzed and over-analyzed it a dozen times. After the hug, she should have just waved good-bye from the doorstep. She should have calmly watched him walk away.

But Marinette wasn’t one to freeze up because of nerves—oh no, that would have been too easy. Marinette had to make a fool of herself in her entrances as well as her grand exits. So instead of doing the civil thing, she broke off the hug early, swiveled unceremoniously on her heel, and slammed the door rudely behind her. She scurried up the stairs, falling flat on her face in the process— _karma, what a bitch_. She didn’t have to look back to imagine the appalled look on Adrien’s face as he watched her through the glass of the bakery window. Marinette flew up to her room without so much as a greeting to her parents, and ran up to her balcony to possibly catch a peek of Adrien leaving.

But when she made it to the railing of her balcony, panting and huffing, he and his bodyguard were already gone. She sank to the floor and groaned, pounding her forehead into the wrought iron. How does someone royally screw up what should be a simple good-bye? Answer: be Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Well, at least she had crossed off everything on her to-do list for the day: she’d confessed to Adrien Agreste. _Woopty-freaking-doo._

Marinette was certainly going to remember this day forever. She wouldn’t even have to write it down.

* * *

 After having raced through the living room in a whirlwind, Marinette’s parents were aware of her obvious state of distress, but said nothing and allowed her to confide in them on her own time. Tom remained on the sofa reading, and Sabine continued to rummage about the kitchen, preparing for dinner. Marinette trudged down the stairs after changing into pajamas, and plopped herself on the couch, wishing it would swallow her up. She grabbed the remote and began flipping through the TV channels, searching for something mindless to watch.

“How was the movie?” her father said, turning the page in his news magazine. Marinette took a moment before answering truthfully: “It was sort of stupid.”

“Well, I wasn’t really expecting anything else based on the reviews,” Tom replied with a laugh. Marinette absentmindedly hummed in agreement as she continued to click the remote. She finally settled on the Animal Planet, which was premiering some broadcast about black panthers.

“And Alya?” her mother asked, laying out vegetables on a cutting board.

Again, Marinette did not answer right away. “Fine,” she said after a beat. “She and Nino are fine.”

“Was that Adrien who walked you home? What a perfect gentleman,” Sabine commented, chopping in a fluid motion.

There was a long sigh, then finally: “Yup. That was Adrien. Heeeee’s perfect...”

Tom and Sabine exchanged glances, but said nothing. Marinette pulled herself from the sofa, leaving the TV on, and dragged herself back to her room. She hated the fact that that her parents could read her so easily, not that she was doing a very good job of hiding her emotions to begin with. “We’ll call you when dinner is ready!” Sabine called out, and her parents heard a muffled confirmation.

After a minute of silence, Sabine glanced at her husband, pouring broth into a wide pot. “What do you think happened?”

Tom sighed, turning another page in his magazine. “I think that rejection hurts, no matter the circumstances.” Sabine hummed in agreement. While Adrien was under no obligation to reciprocate Marinette’s feelings for him, it was a little surprising considering how close of friends they had become.

No one really thought Adrien would turn Marinette down.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn’t know it at the time, but Adrien was going to make a terrible mistake. The mistake, interestingly enough, was not related to people he had just seen moments earlier, but a certain guest who was coming to visit. What had happened with Marinette earlier that day was not a mistake, it was a choice. There are many of those who would consider it to have been the wrong choice, but it was a choice nonetheless.

Now as far as Adrien was concerned, he was glowing when he got home. He’d gone on a great date with his close circle of friends, Marinette had been a hoot as always, and she’d even told him she liked him—what a sweetheart! He’d never been confessed to before. It was sort of satisfying. Definitely a confidence booster.

Adrien _had_ reflected a lot on Marinette on the walk back home. He couldn’t quite explain why, but he sort of felt bad. They were just friends, and anyway he was in love with someone else. He had no obligation to like anyone just because he or she liked him. While he couldn’t come up with an obvious explanation for why he felt bad for turning her down, he had to hand it to her: her courage was very inspiring.

 _If Marinette has the balls to say something to me then I’ve got the balls to confess to someone, too_ , he thought. Adrien was always coming up with excuses not to stand out or stand up for himself. While it kept him out of trouble, it also kept him from doing the things he really cared about. And anyway, hadn’t sticking up for himself paid off in the past? Sticking up to his father had gotten him the chance to go to public school, and he’d made a circle of friends outside of Chloé that way.

Marinette had certainly made an impact on him that day, even if it wasn’t quite in the way many would have hoped. In any case, the mistake in question was not when he spoke to Marinette. His mistake would involve one Miss Bourgeois.

The moment he got home, Natalie was waiting for him. It only took a single raised eyebrow for Adrien to know what she was thinking. “I know, I know,” he answered her unspoken question, “I have approximately 45 minutes to prepare before dinner.” Natalie nodded, and looked at her tablet, tapping away.

“Please be sure to check your schedule for tomorrow. It begins very early with a photoshoot. Don’t forget to try on the new suit as well,” she reminded him. “Your father is adamant that it is perfect for the upcoming show. It’s hanging in your room.” She turned on her heel, and added over her shoulder, “Make sure to try it on _after_ you shower.”

Adrien replied in the affirmative, having been effectively dismissed, and ran up the stairs, taking them three at a time. Natalie hadn’t said so, but he could tell that she was agitated he was running a little behind (her) schedule.

When he got to his room, Plagg sprung out from his cardigan pocket. “What a crazy day!” he cried out, as Adrien undressed and headed towards the bathroom at the same time.

“Is it any busier than usual?” Adrien countered. He kicked his clothes to the side of the bathroom, the only thing having not been removed was his ring, and turned on the shower faucet to allow the water to warm up. Ever the multitasker, he grabbed his toothbrush and began brushing his teeth. When he was satisfied with the temperature water, he jumped right in, showering hurriedly and brushing his teeth simultaneously.

Plagg, who had no concept of privacy when it came to Adrien, continued the conversation while his chosen went about his hygienic business. “What do you think of that girl telling you she’s in love with you?”

Adrien spat excess toothpaste into the drain at his feet. “First of all: she didn’t tell me she was in love with me, she just likes me. And second of all: what about it?” he asked, before biting on the head of the toothbrush to free his hands in order to scrub his scalp with shampoo.

Plagg snickered mischievously. “You mean to tell me you have _nothing_ to say about it?”

Adrien scoffed at Plagg’s insinuation. He answered, his mouth still full with a toothbrush. “C’mon Plagg, it’s not like that between us,” he insisted. “She’s just a friend.”

“Do you think she’ll be jealous of whoever is coming over for dinner? Who _is_ coming to dinner by the way?”

Adrien ignored the first question. “You know exactly who’s coming over, that hasn’t changed in forever. We have the Bourgeois’ over for dinner all the time.” This was true, and as a child, Adrien had looked forward to these dinners, which were held on the first Sunday of every month. It had been the only time he was actively expected to interact with and entertain someone remotely the same age as him.

He finished rinsing off his body, his mouth and his toothbrush before shutting off the water. Glancing at the clock on the wall that wasn’t quite fogged up yet—it’d only taken him 12 minutes to shower, _a new record!_ (Well, for him, anyway. He _was_ a model, he usually took very long showers)—he briskly toweled himself down, slipped on a clean pair of underwear and began rummaging for his hair dryer. Adrien was never one to brag, but he was actually quite proficient at blow-drying his hair himself, especially when it came to the hard-to-reach part at the crown of his head. Tonight, however, it was mostly for the sake of drying off his dripping hair before getting dressed. One of his father’s (admittedly many) pet peeves was the wet spot that appeared on clothing when one’s hair was wet. He considered it to be careless.

Adrien styled his hair with a comb as he went, thinking not for the first time how interesting he would look if he were to just let his hair air-dry. He would probably look an awful lot like Chat Noir.

He wasn’t quite finished when there was a knock at his door. Adrien waited for Plagg to hide in his laundry on the floor before summoning the visitor to enter. Mr. Agreste opened the door when he was called, but did not step forward into the bathroom. The humidity wasn’t good for his clothes and shoes. It probably wasn’t good for his mood, either.

Adrien looked at his father, not necessarily surprised to see him standing there, before turning back to the mirror to finish up the last touches. Mr. Agreste did not speak, and Adrien acknowledged him as he coiled up cord of his hair dryer. “Yes, father?”

“I came to see if you had tried on the suit,” he said immediately.

“Not yet, I was just about to.” Mr. Agreste observed his son for a moment, and pursed his lips, clearly debating something. His compulsion to fix his son won out over his distaste for humidity, and he stepped into the bathroom. Adrien fought the urge to roll his eyes as his father took the comb from his hand and swept it through his hair until _he_ was pleased with it. When he wasn’t completely disregarding, Gabriel could be somewhat overbearing. Adrien liked to believe that he was just being a doting father.

Mr. Agreste turned to step out when he noticed the pile of dirty clothes in the corner. “Fold your laundry and stow it properly before carrying on with other tasks,” he said sharply, clicking his tongue. Adrien, again, held back a sigh. _Nope, not doting. Definitely overbearing_. As Gabriel left the bathroom, Adrien made a big show of scooping up his clothes, while he was really trying to search for the creature that was hidden within. His hand accidently slapped Plagg, and Adrien, who didn’t really care about his kwami’s feelings at the moment, grabbed the spirit and stuffed him down the leg of his underwear. Adrien stood, and carried his now folded laundry to the laundry bin. Plagg squirmed against his leg, and Adrien dropped his clothes, doubling over giggling. His father turned his head sharply at his suddenly jittery son, and Adrien covered quickly.

“Oh, uh, sorry I tripped,” he mumbled. As he picked up his clothes, he discretely pounded his fist where he knew Plagg’s head was to get him to stop fidgeting. Adrien was extremely ticklish, and Plagg would get them both caught if he didn’t stop.

“Adrien, have some sense of urgency please,” his father called to him when he dawdled by the laundry bin. “I’d like to be downstairs sometime _before_ Mr. Bourgeois is served dessert.” Adrien couldn’t exactly explain that he was adjusting an otherworldly spirit in his underwear, so he obediently strode to where the new suit was. His father, in his impatience, had already taken it out of its plastic cover and laid out a white dress shirt to be worn underneath. Adrien got dressed quickly.

Gabriel walked around Adrien, appraising him. He reached over to pinch the suit at his shoulders and back a few times. “Lift your arms,” and Adrien did so before the last word had been uttered. He knew the drill.

“The jacket is fine, you may remove it.” Adrien wordlessly did as he was told. “The pants, however, are another story.” Gabriel kneeled in front of Adrien, fingering the hem of his pants. “You’ve gotten taller,” he said, answering his own unspoken question.

He stood, and took a step back, frowning at Adrien’s legs. Adrien couldn’t help fidgeting.

“I’m…sorry I’m getting taller?” Adrien apologized, not sure if there was something he should do to placate his father. But Gabriel only looked at his son in surprise.

“What are you apologizing for? You sound ridiculous.”

“You just seem upset about this.”

“I’m not upset,” Gabriel said, a little too sharply for someone who claimed he wasn’t upset. “Aside from the fact that I’ll need to re-hem, this is a good thing.”

“You’re not making it seem like this is a good thing,” Adrien replied, unconvinced.

Gabriel sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. His son had always been too smart and too curious. It drove him crazy sometimes. “You getting taller means your measurements will start to change significantly over a short period of time,” Gabriel began.

“You mean I’m hitting puberty,” Adrien said matter-of-factly. Gabriel frowned, uncomfortable with the word choice. But he still continued.

“Yes… Well, in any case, it’s not just your height that will be affected, but your bust, your arms, your waist—everything.”

“So you’re saying that with my measurements in flux it’ll just be annoying tailoring clothes for me until I reach my full height,” Adrien concluded.

Gabriel chuckled—that is to say, the corner of his lip twitched, and he breathed sharply out from his nose. “That’s…true. But I guess what concerns me the most is that you’ll soon start to look like an adult. People will want to see you in adult photoshoots.” Gabriel took a step forward and reached out to sweep his son’s hair from his forehead. “I guess I’m just not ready to see that yet.”

It was in these rare moments that Adrien really saw a doting father. He wanted to say something but his overbearing father quickly took over.

“Hang everything up neatly. Keep in mind the preironed creases. The plastic cover should not have any wrinkles or folds in it either. Be down for dinner soon, the Bourgeois will arrive shortly.”

With a turn on his heel, Mr. Agreste left, along with Adrien’s overbearing father, and in his place was the disregarding one.

* * *

 Mr. Agreste and Mr. Bourgeois were not friends. It was Mrs. Agreste and the late Mrs. Bourgeois who were friends, and it was they who started these monthly dinner plans. Even without either Missus present, the men had carried on with the get-togethers as Mr. Agreste was too stubborn to change his routine, and Mr. Bourgeois was too afraid to turn down the engagement each time it was brought up.

While Adrien didn’t mind them, he found that they always happened to fall on days that he was not necessarily busy, but would have rather skipped out on them. Take today for example, where he would have preferred to spend more time with Nino, Alya and Marinette after the movies. The only participant that actually looked forward to and enjoyed these dinners was Chloé.

Said blonde barreled through the front doors and gleefully wrapped her arms around Adrien’s neck. “Adri-kins,” she said in a singsong manner, and kissed him on the cheek. Adrien patted her on the back, perpetually embarrassed by her pet name that she had given him as a child.

“Hello to you too, Chloé,” he said. He politely pressed his cheek to hers and kissed the air.

“Adrien, I just _have_ to tell you some very important news,” she said, separating from him. She stalked out of the foyer to the dining hall as though she were in charge, and Adrien was obliged to follow after her. He chuckled as he quickened his pace to keep up with her.

“Oh, yeah?” he prodded, knowing full well that it probably wasn’t very important news at all, but playing along anyway.

“Yes!” she said, setting her purse down on its usual place at the table. She continued speaking quickly as Adrien pulled her seat out for her. “I just got a new pair of riding boots!”

Chloé had just deemed new riding boots as “very important news”…well, at least he saw that one coming.

“Here, take a look!” she squealed, holding out her phone. Adrien leaned over her shoulder to see the photos she was scrolling through. They were a pair of brown boots, with a recurring “F” pattern across them, a design that Adrien recognized immediately.

“Fendi?” he said, pulling out his own chair beside her.

Chloé nodded, and admired the picture again. “You can’t tell from the picture, but they’re fur-lined. Just in time for the winter!”

“Are those heels practical for the snow?” Adrien wondered.

“Please, as if we ever get more than a couple meters of snow a year,” Chloé scoffed. She set her phone down on the table and prattled on a bit more about how terrible the selection of boots this season was.

Mr. Agreste and Mr. Bourgeois sat down opposite of Adrien and Chloé, who were not speaking much aside from pleasantries.

And then, dinner began. A server came and went. Drinks were poured, the first course served, then the second. Natalie and the Gorilla took their place at the other far end of the table, where they ate mostly in silence, both to the hosts and to each other. In general, the dinners would have been uncomfortably quiet if not for the fact that Chloé usually took hold of the conversation. She asked Gabriel lots of things to which he gave vague answers, such as the upcoming winter collection—“I can’t reveal that to you just yet”—his opinion on the recent elections in the greater Paris—“I don’t reveal my political views, not even to your father”—if she and Adrien could hang out later this week—“I don’t know Adrien’s schedule, ask Natalie. Or the boy himself, he’s sitting right next to you”—and on Ladybug—“Ladybug is very good at what she does, which is keeping the people of Paris safe. She is not very good at what she is supposed to do, which is to hunt down this Hawkmoth character and bring him to justice.”

“Why do you say that, Father?” Adrien said, contributing to the conversation for the first time.

Mr. Agreste wiped the corner of his mouth before speaking. “Because it’s true. I don’t think Ladybug understands the danger Hawkmoth poses,” he said, folding his hands under his chin, having finished his cake.

Adrien did not respond, but Chloé felt the need to stand up for her hero. “Of course Ladybug knows,” she said. “She’s probably on the case as we speak.”

“Ladybug is probably cramming for school as we speak,” Gabriel corrected. “She’s likely to be your age if not younger.”

Adrien was a little stunned. He’d never heard his father speak about Ladybug before, let alone know so much about her. “How do you know that, Father?”

“I keep up with the news, even if it sometimes comes from unreliable sources such as an online blog run by a teenager.”

Adrien blinked. His father was talking about Alya’s Ladyblog. But Adrien chose not to press the matter, at least not in front of other guests.

Chloé was done at the table, and she let everyone know by standing up and yawning dramatically. “Adrien, I’ll be in your room powdering my nose. Come play with me when you are finished here,” she said, and she pranced out of the dining room and up the stairs with her purse in hand.

Adrien turned to his father, who had been staring at the wall deep in thought, and although he was curious to hear what his father had to say on the subject of Ladybug, he had his duties as a host. So he said, “May I be excused from the table?”

Gabriel waved his hand, and Adrien took that as a sign of permission to leave. He headed up the stairs after Chloé, taking them two at a time. He wasn’t in any particular rush, but if he waited too long for her to be done in the bathroom, she would roam around his room unattended and that wasn’t always necessarily a good thing.

Chloé was still in the bathroom when he got to his room. She was the kind of person who took an absurd amount of time in the restroom, so that didn’t exactly surprise Adrien. Plagg also knew this, and came out from his shirt collar. “Salon time,” he said with a gleeful giggle, and dived into a massive cosmetics bag sitting on the center of the floor. Adrien sat on his bed and, acknowledging the yellow bag, started removing his shoes.

“Get out of there, you mangy cat,” Adrien teased. He neatly folded his socks as his father would have liked and placed them in the laundry bin. He put his shoes away as well. When that was done, he returned to his bed, sat cross-legged and pulled out his phone.

Plagg zoomed up to his face before he could look at the screen. “My favorite color is in there again! Choose it, pretty please?” he said, zipping around animatedly. Adrien laughed, swatting at Plagg like a fly, and said, “Alright, alright, whatever you want.” He turned his attention back to his phone.

There were four notifications in his inbox. The first was his calendar alerting him of dinner plans starting an hour ago. He closed out of that one, annoyed that those notifications still came up after adjusting his settings a thousand times. The other three notifications were texts from Nino. Adrien braced himself as he opened them. They said:

**Nino: Dd, blast @ movy 2dy. Ty 4 chap as alwz! lol**

**Nino: Bball tmrw af school?**

**Nino: O yea erly din. Txt l8r**

As always, it took Adrien a moment to understand what the heck Nino was even saying. Nino didn’t have unlimited texts, so he had a million bizarre abbreviations to save characters and make the most out of every message. The problem was that even after almost a year of being friends with the kid, Adrien still wasn’t the most adept at reading his broken SMS.

After a moment, he grinned when he finally understood that, “Dd, blast @ movy 2dy,” actually meant: “Hey dude, I had a blast at the movies today.” He deciphered and translated the rest of the messages as: “Thanks for ‘chaperoning,’ as always. Want to hang out tomorrow? We can play basketball after school. Oh, I totally forgot, you’re at your early dinner. Just text me later.”

Adrien began typing out a response when Plagg suddenly tucked himself back into his shirt collar. As if on cue, Chloé emerged from the bathroom. “Adri-kins,” she called out, and he responded with a hum, mimicking her singsong inflection. She was a bit miffed when she saw that his phone was pulling most of his attention away from her, so she went over to peeked over his shoulder and see what he was doing.

“Ugh, Nino,” she said with a sneer. She sat on the floor beside her bag, slipping off her own shoes. “He’s _such_ a nobody. Wouldn’t know a Fenri from a Ferrari if he saw one.” She laughed at her own joke, and pulled the cosmetics bag toward her. Adrien frowned. For one, it wasn’t very nice of her to make fun of his best friend, but two, she came up with some terrible puns.

“Why do you do that Chloé,” Adrien asked, tucking his phone away.

“Do what, exactly?” She rummaged through her bag, pulling out bottles and bottles of nail polish.

“You put on this…” Adrien hesitated, trying to find the right word without insulting her. “Show,” he decided.

Chloé pursed her lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides we’ve gone over this a thousand times, and this conversation bores me. Let’s move on to something else.”

Adrien took a deep breath. Chloé would always be his friend; they were almost potty trained together. But she was a very difficult person to love, and she knew that, and she in turn _loved_ that she was difficult. She thrived on pushing other people’s buttons, and she fed off of getting people riled up. So maybe she took it too far when she’d gotten one, or two, or twenty people akumatized.

“Okay, getting people akumatized is not my fault,” she would argue. “People become akumatized when they’re weak. This wouldn’t be a problem if they weren’t so weak minded to begin with.”

“Chloé,” Adrien always reminded her, “you’ve been akumatized too.”

“ _That was once_.”

Still, Adrien had to hand it to her, she could be a lot of fun when it was just the two of them. He almost didn’t believe the rumors when he first got to public school that she was a bit of a bully. She had never been mean to him before he went to school. So he tried testing his theory by hanging out with her when he was Chat Noir a few times. It was odd to see Chloé so…different. He was very uncomfortable with how outright rude she was.

But he was still friends with her. The thing was, when she wasn’t putting up this front to impress people, she could hold excellent conversation. Chloé was very well read. She wasn’t good at most subjects like physics—if she were completely honest she didn’t really give a shit about school—but she knew things. She could tell the names of every world politician, their stances, and their affairs—in some cases, both marital and business. She could explain the various economic statuses in almost every country in the EU, and their effects on other countries.

She knew people. She knew exactly what to say to make people feel flattered or insulted—though, not surprisingly, she claimed that the latter was much easier. She was a master negotiator, and she wasn’t afraid to saying something scandalous to get her way.

Chloé wasn’t just street smart, she was also cunning. And that was the inherent problem: she used her intelligence for the wrong reasons. Chloé had the potential to become a very dangerous woman someday.

This was where Adrien’s mistake was made. He never underestimated Chloé’s intelligence, but rather he underestimated what she could do with that information. And that was a very dangerous thing to forget.

“So Adrien, talk to me,” Chloé said, as she wedged foam separators between his toes.

“What do you want to know?” Adrien replied. He was now sitting on the floor in front of her, hugging his knees to his chest. He watched Chloé go about her usual post-dinner ritual.

She lined up the bottles of polish and looked at Adrien expectantly. Thinking of Plagg, he pointed at the lime green one, and she rolled her eyes in a dramatic huff. “Typical,” she murmured, and he laughed.

“It’s my favorite one!”

“I don’t know if that’s entirely true,” she mused, setting the other bottles aside.

“How do you mean?”

“I distinctly remember there was a time when you chose colors besides”—she checked the label of the bottle—“ ‘ _Green_ _Queen’_.” She rolled the bottle in between her palms. “When was it that you started liking this particular color?”

Adrien shrugged and said nothing, but the mischievous look in his eyes gave him away. She wasn’t wrong; he did used to choose other colors.

“As I recall,” Chloé continued, now carefully hovering the brush over his big toe, “it was when you started going to school that you began to consistently choose this color.” She painted his first nail in a swift, practiced motion. Then she appraised her handiwork, fixing the edge of his nail bed with one of her own perfectly manicured nails.

“Don’t use your finger for that, use some tweezers or something,” Adrien chided. Her nail polish would be ruined if she kept scraping off the excess polish with her nails.

But Chloé waved a hand. “Oh, whatever, I’ll just get Daddy to set up an appointment at the salon tomorrow.” She began to paint his little toes. “Maybe I’ll take Sabrina along if she’s nice to me tomorrow.”

Adrien frowned, but said nothing. The topic of Sabrina was another issue that they had discussed at length. If he ever accused Chloé of pushing around her best friend, Chloé’s response was always: “Sabrina isn’t being push around, just being pushed! She would have no backbone if it weren’t for me. I boss her around because she would feel useless otherwise. Her perfectionism is wasted on anything else.” Adrien wasn’t sure if it was rationalizing or not, but there was no point in bringing it up now…

Chloé pulled him out of his reverie. “But anyway Adri-kins, back to you. Tell me, how was the…public cinema?” she said, scrunching her nose as if the thought of being in a regular movie theater was vomit inducing.

“It was fun. We went and saw that new rom com.”

“Don’t tell me it was actually any good,” she said, starting on his other foot. “I read the reviews already.”

“Oh, no, it was crap.”

Chloé gasped in mock disapproval, “Adrien, language!”

He acknowledged her joke with a smile but made no comment.

“Who did you go with?” she continued, in her singsong manner.

“Oh, you know, the usual. I went with Nino, and…” Adrien grimaced for just a second, forgetting his private resolve to not let on to Chloé that he had gone out with anyone other than Nino. Never mind that she already mocked him endlessly about being friends with Nino, she was always outraged if he even implied that he had other friends aside from her.

Chloé sighed dramatically, “Who else did you go to the movies with?”

“Well, Nino was on a date with Alya, I was just third wheeling,” Adrien admitted, proud that he had finally gotten the chance to use the term ‘third wheel’ appropriately. He was still amazed at the amount of vocab he’d picked up in public school.

Chloé closed her eyes, feigning pain. “Please. Please tell me it was just the three of you.”

“Well…” She knew he could never lie to her.

“Who else was there?” Chloé said, now painting a second coat on his toes. She was being much less careful than before, and it was an indicator that she was not just pretending to be annoyed.

Adrien hesitated before replying: “You know that Alya drags around Marinette everywhere she goes…”

“Adrien!” she said, looking up at him irritated.

“I had fun!” Why did Adrien feel the need to defend himself? He’d had a great time and he didn’t feel bad about admitting that. Or rather, he _shouldn’t_ feel bad admitting that. Why did he feel the need to hold on to Chloé in the way he did?

“Adrien, it’s not about having fun or not. It’s the principle of the thing.”

“What principle?”

“Marinette, she’s just so—”

“So…what?”

“So _clingy_.” Chloé finished, spinning the bottle of nail polish shut.

Adrien thought for a moment. “Why do you say that?”

“Duh, isn’t it obvious?”

“It’s not obvious to me.”

“Adrien. Don’t be so dense.” When Adrien gave her a blank stare, she groaned. “ _Adrien_. It’s so obvious she likes you.”

It was odd how things happen. It wouldn’t have mattered that Marinette had said something or not this afternoon. Adrien would have found out about her crush regardless, because this conversation between Adrien and Chloé would have happened whether or not Marinette had actually confessed. The knowledge that Marinette liked him did not affect his opinion of Marinette herself. But the way it was conveyed made all the difference. So even though Marinette and Chloé had technically said the same thing to him, his opinion of Marinette had been heightened, and his opinion of Chloé had been lessened. It was funny how these things worked.

Of course, the subtle difference between the two scenarios was that Chloé was lying. This, of course, is something that Adrien would have no way of knowing, but Chloé actually had no idea whether Marinette liked Adrien or not. She had only said that in the hopes that she would get a reaction from Adrien.

But if Chloé was indeed hoping for some kind of reaction, then his indifference left her a little confused and more than a little annoyed. He only said, “How long have you known that?”

“What do you think of it?” she asked, avoiding his question, still hoping for a reaction.

“When did you hear that, Chloé?” he insisted.

Chloé pursed her lips, and began painting her own toes in a bubblegum pink to avoid eye contact. “Oh, what does it matter how I know? You wouldn’t believe me anyway.” Adrien knew that she would try to change the subject, and he wasn’t about to let her off easy.

“I know you don’t like it, but Marinette and I are pretty good friends. We’ve gotten a lot closer in the past year. She’s perfectly capable of telling me things herself.”

And there it was. That was the mistake. Chloé’s face shot up.

“Wait, _Marinette_ told you that she likes you?”

“Well… Yeah.”

“When?” Chloé was a sucker for gossip, and she wasn’t about to let this little tidbit slip from her grasp.

“Err, earlier today.”

“ _What_?!” Chloé yelled, and Adrien couldn’t tell if it was out of surprise or panic. Perhaps a little bit of both? “Well, what did you tell her when she said that?” she prodded, and Adrien didn’t understand what she was so worried about.

“I mean, I told her I wasn’t interested right now,” he replied honestly.

“So you turned her down?” Chloé said quickly, sounding somewhat relieved.

“Well, yeah, I guess I did.”

“Oh, well,” Chloé began, preparing to lie to cover up her lie, which somehow was actually a truth all along. “I didn’t tell you because I just figured she’d want to tell you herself.”

Adrien narrowed his eyes at her. “I’d still like to know how you know about that. Marinette keeps to herself mostly.” There was no way Marinette would have volunteered such information to Chloé of all people.

But Chloé simply smiled at him, and Adrien immediately recognized that look. It was the look of Chloé about to win. “I started this conversation by saying that Marinette is clingy. You asked why. I said it’s because she likes you. But if you know all this already, and it doesn’t seem to bother you…then what’s the harm?”

Adrien couldn’t think fast enough to try and contradict her, and his hesitation gave her the opening to stand up, ending the conversation. Chloé always got the last word in.

Having lost the conversation, Adrien stayed sitting, admiring his lime green toes, as Chloé paced around the room. She liked to pace after eating. She claimed it helped her digest. Adrien thought it was really because she liked to imagine herself as a protagonist in her own Regency novel, where she once read that the characters would “take a turn about the room,” or something to that effect. But Adrien didn’t mind the quirk so much as he minded her snooping through his stuff.

Which is what she was doing in his closet: snooping.

“ _Love_ the new suit, Adri-kins,” he heard her say from inside his walk-in closet.

“Thanks,” he called to her. “My father just fitted it on me. It’s for the next show.” He looked up as she came into the room with the suit. “Chloé, put it away…”

She ignored him. “When is that again? Your daddy wouldn’t tell me anything about it at dinner, and I’m just dying to see what he’s come up with for this season,” and before he could answer she said, “You _are_ taking me, right?”

“I…haven’t really thought about who my plus one was going to be.” Adrien gazed out the window, and Chloé became very exasperated very quickly.

“You’re not going to take Marinette, are you?” she said, still jealous and paranoid over a nonexistent relationship between the two of them.

“No, that hadn’t even crossed my mind,” Adrien responded quickly. And that was the truth. But Marinette had been the one to inspire his latest idea. Adrien had planned to ask…someone else. Someone who would probably turn him down, but he at least had to try before defaulting to Plan B.

“Well, who else would you possibly take to a fashion show?”

“I don’t know,” Adrien thought, then decided to tell her his Plan B. “I was thinking maybe Nino—”

“ _Nino?!_ ” she said with a stomp of her foot. “He doesn’t know the first thing about fashion shows!”

“And that’s why I want to take him! He’s never been, and I think it would be a treat for him.” Chloé toss the suit on the bed and began marching around the room again as he spoke, but now in a much quicker pace. She was getting angrier by the minute.

“He won’t even _like_ it!”

“He’s never been to one, so he won’t really know if he likes it or not until he goes!” Adrien pointed out. He didn’t really care if he hurt her feelings at this point, so he said: “He’s my friend, Chloé! And I sometimes don’t know who else actually is!”

Chloé spun around to face him, her jaw clenched. She was huffing mad, and she was petty enough to do something about it. So she stomped right up Adrien, squatted, and rubbed her finger across his toenails. The still-wet polish clumped in a gloopy mess, and that by itself would have been fine except that she had to drag her hands through the carpet, smearing the polish all along the way. She dragged her own wet toes through the carpet too, just to prove a point.

“Chloé!” Adrien yelled, annoyed that she was defaulting to cattiness when she didn’t get her way. He thought this was the worst she could do—if only that was the worst she could do.

She ignored him when he yelled at her. She scooped up her shoes and stormed down the stairs, yelling nonsense. Adrien gave chase after her, still barefoot. He halted at the top of the stairs and watched as Mayor Bourgeois ran after his fickle daughter, spewing out apologies to Mr. Agreste. Gabriel gave an angry look at Adrien, silencing any protests, and calmly shut the door behind his guests.

Adrien looked at his father sadly. “Father, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I don’t want to hear it, Adrien. I will be in your room to chastise you in two minutes, so be ready.”

Adrien dragged himself back to his room. Plagg came out from his shirt collar, for once not saying anything. Adrien realized that the foam separators were still between his toes and he reached down to take them off. At first, he was very careful in removing them, but one mournful look at his ruined toes led him to rip them off. He tried to fling them petulantly across the room—maybe throwing a tantrum would help—but being made of foam, they didn’t get very far before fluttering unthreateningly to the floor. He decided that tantrums weren’t really his thing, and picked them up with a sigh to return them to where they belonged.

Chloé had left her yellow cosmetics bag behind in her fit of rage. Adrien stuffed the separators into their proper pouch, and began putting away the bottles that had been lying around. “Hey Adrien,” Plagg said hesitantly.

“What is it now?” Adrien’s patience was wearing thin. He picked up the Green Queen polish, and considered redoing his toes. He wasn’t very good at painting his nails, though…

“Well, I think, maybe, _this_ could be a problem…” Adrien looked over to where Plagg was pointing to on the carpet.

That was when he realized with start the polish that had been spilled—no, not spilled, _dragged_ —across the carpet had not been properly attended to.

Adrien’s heart stopped. His father would be up any second, and there would be hell to pay if this wasn’t cleaned up. He frantically dug through the bag for nail polish remover and cotton balls, and scrubbed at the carpet. Plagg flew about his head like an agitated bee, and Adrien scowled at his keeper. “Stop that, you’re making me nervous!” he whispered.

“You’re nervous? _I’m_ nervous, you—” But Adrien didn’t get the chance to hear Plagg’s insult, because that was when the door to his bedroom burst open.

Plagg flew into Adrien’s shirt pocket just in time, and Adrien stood quickly, sputtering, trying to come up with some sort of excuse. Gabriel stepped forward and surveyed the room, effectively silencing his son. He frowned and bent down towards Adrien. For a scary moment Adrien thought he would grab his ear, something his father had not done since he was a child.

But Gabriel simply reached past him and grabbed Chloé’s cosmetics pouch. “Vera Bradley,” he muttered with thinly veiled disgust. “The girl can have anything in the world and she choses Vera Bradley.” He shook his head. “If swear if you ever ask me for something made by those women I will personally pull you from school.”

Adrien stared at his father in shock. He’d heard his father trash talk designers before, but this was a whole new level of loathing. It was almost…funny? Almost.

“Clean up this mess. Don’t use acetone on the carpet, use rubbing alcohol. I will send Natalie to help.”

“F-Father?”

“You need to learn to control your emotions. Chloé will win fits of passion every time. I don’t need to punish you for allowing her to walk all over you; I think cleaning up this mess is enough. In any case I expect a properly written apology to her on my desk, which I will take the time to proofread. I will be cross if you haven’t done so by the time I go to bed.”

“B-but Father—! It wasn’t my fault!”

“Have I made myself clear, Adrien?”

They had a stare down for a moment, but Adrien broke off first, bowing his head obediently. “Yes, Father.” Gabriel turned after a moment of silence. That was when he saw the suit, which had been carelessly tossed onto the bed by Chloé.

“What is that doing there?” Adrien looked up, and cringed. How could he have made such a stupid mistake as to leave that out?

“I-I…” Adrien started.

“I thought I told you to put it back neatly in your closet.”

“Chloé took it out,” Adrien began, trying to deflect the blame.

“If Chloé wants to ride a bicycle down the stairs, shall I let her?” Gabriel interrupted. “If she wants to walk on the dining room table like a catwalk, shall we indulge her? No,” he said, responding to his hypothetical questions. “I don’t want excuses. I gave you a command. You should have been firm with her or I will be firm with you, as I am doing now. Tomorrow, you are to come home immediately after school and remain here for the evening as punishment.”

Adrien wanted to argue. He wanted to protest that he had made plans to play basketball with Nino after school. He wanted to complain that he had a group project that needed to be done tomorrow. What he really wanted to do was through a fit and cry. But he didn’t. He instead bowed his head, and mumbled his usual response: “Yes, Father.”

“Clean up this polish. Write a letter of apology. And now there’s a third thing I want you to do: steam that suit, it’s wrinkled.”

Gabriel left the room, having considered his parenting complete.

* * *

 An hour and a half later, the suit had been carefully steamed, the polish cleaned up, and a letter written. Adrien had meticulously preserved the creases that had been intentionally ironed in. He made certain to use rubbing alcohol and not nail polish remover. And his letter was beautifully handwritten in his pristine cursive. That letter though, had been the hardest task to do by far. What was he supposed to say, “I’m sorry that you’re a brat and can’t accept that I have other friends”? But it had been done, like all things, to the best of Adrien’s abilities.

When it came time to present the letter to his father for editing, Adrien was ready to go to bed, even though it had just barely turned 8:30 in the evening. He sighed, pushing the door open to find his father sitting at his office desk, contemplating the computer screen.

Adrien walked slowly over to the desk, and fidgeted when his father did not immediately acknowledge him. So he decided to try and present his reasoning for why he shouldn’t have to apologize to Chloé.

“Father, I don’t believe I should have to send her this letter,” Adrien began, trying to sound calm and logical. Gabriel didn’t move, so he continued, “She threw a fit in my bedroom, in our home. Guests shouldn’t act like that, you even said it yourself—”

Gabriel interrupted him. “I don’t care what she did, Adrien. She is a lady, raised by a lady’s husband, and she will be treated like a lady even if she does not act like one.” He held out his hand, but his eyes were still transfixed on the computer screen. “Your apology letter, please.”

Adrien clenched his teeth, and stiffly handed over the piece of paper that he had been clutching. Gabriel finally pulled away from the glowing screen. Adrien watched as his eyes flickered back and forth, reading the letter rapidly.

“This is well-written,” Gabriel conceded, but he continued with: “You will add here, at the end, that you are inviting her to the show as your plus one.”

Adrien’s heart sank. His father couldn’t really make him do that, could he? He had already planned to invite… He squeezed his eyes shut, channeling courage that he sometimes forgot he had, the same courage that led him to go to public school, the same courage that fueled him as Chat Noir.

“Father,” Adrien began, softly, controlling the trembling in his voice, “Please. _Please_ don’t make me take Chloé. She insulted my friends. She ruined the suit. She humiliated me in my own bedroom. I will send this letter if you make me, and I will be courteous to her over every dinner, but I cannot take her to the show with me.” Adrien bowed his head, willing himself not to crack under his father’s gaze. “ _Please_ , Papa.”

Gabriel stared at his son, a little surprised at being called _Papa_. He hadn’t heard that in years…

He wordlessly handed the letter back to Adrien. In a rare moment of (almost) tenderness, he said, “I trust you to make the proper decision.”

Adrien took the letter back, unsure of what his father was telling him. He stared, but his father turned back to his computer screen, and Adrien considered himself dismissed.

He walked back to his room, wondering if his father was actually letting him do what he wanted or not. He folded the letter and carefully placed it in an envelope. He swallowed hard, before ultimately slipping his plus-one ticket into the envelope along with his apology. He didn’t want to, and Gabriel didn’t seem to be forcing him to, but he had a responsibility to uphold with his father. He willed himself not to tremble as he caught Natalie just as she was about to leave for the evening. She promised to have it delivered by tomorrow.

Adrien finally crawled into bed, feeling miserable. He rubbed his eyes, and when he pulled his hands back he was surprised to find that they were wet. Adrien stared up at the ceiling and decided to not hold back his angry tears anymore. No one could see them anyway, so it was okay.

Plagg nuzzled his cheek, and Adrien conceded he had made a mistake. He mentally corrected himself: Only Plagg could see his tears, so it was okay.

 _Tomorrow_ , he told himself, rolling to his side and tucking the covers under his chin. _Tomorrow, I’ll wake up feeling great_. He nuzzled Plagg back with his nose, and finally let out a sob. _Tomorrow, everything will be fine._


End file.
